


Giant Steps

by analog08



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Jazz AU, M/M, Post-College AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 01:28:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18955153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/analog08/pseuds/analog08
Summary: Rhett was apprehensive about jamming with yet another stranger—expecting them to be just as bothersome as the others before them. Little did he know what he was getting himself into when Link walked through the door.





	Giant Steps

**Author's Note:**

> me: i should wait until this is finished fully before i post it  
> me after i finish the first chapter: U Know What....... fuck it
> 
> updates are not gonna be consistent and i apologize in advance. at this point im just like this lmao i Tried
> 
> thank you to [rhinkipoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhinkipoo/pseuds/rhinkipoo/works) for blessing me with her musical knowledge and to [its_mike_kapufty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/its_mike_kapufty/works) for blessing me with their grammatical knowledge. go check them both out, they write—i linked to their ao3 <:)
> 
> also RandL or anyone involved if ur reading this ...... im sorry jnfbgjnf

When Gregg suggests jamming with a guy he’d met eight months ago, Rhett immediately groans. The last time he’d relented and allowed Gregg to bring a newcomer into their house, he’d spent half the rehearsal setting up and then made a mess of their practice room.

 

_“I’m sorry, dude! He seemed fine when we played at his house. Well, then again… we kinda cleaned the place up, not him. Shit.”_

_“Listen, I’m not gonna be the one untanglin’ all these cords every practice.” Rhett holds up the cable and shakes it for effect. “Your bass doesn’t need an amp.”_

_“I’ll take care of the cables, then,” Gregg says, but his voice doesn’t match the finality of his statement._

_Dark blonde eyebrows shoot up and Rhett turns to look at his roommate incredulously. “You’re gonna commit to puttin’ away all our cables._ Really _?”_

_Gregg pauses before answering and Rhett drops his head back to the task at hand, unwinding and then rewrapping the guitar cord properly. “We can find someone else. Someone who knows how to clean up after themselves.” His voice fizzles to an annoyed grumble._

 

Gregg quickly pacifies him with a gentle voice, using a spatula to break apart ground beef in a pan. “I know how particular you are about who you wanna practice with—‘s why I haven’t brought anyone up since Ian. This guy knows his shit; I met him sophomore year… introduced him to John, too,” his voice lilts up, trying to sway Rhett’s resolve. “ _And_ he plays sax, so no cables necessary.” Gregg turns over his shoulder to throw Rhett a shit-eating grin.

Rhett can’t help the small smile at Gregg’s reassurances. His roommate did seem genuinely apologetic and he wasn’t typically irresponsible. Rhett wouldn’t have rented a house with him if he was _that_ reckless. So perhaps he should cut his friend some slack.

 _“One_ session. If he trashes the room, you clean it. Deal?”

Gregg rolls his eyes, but turns fully and extends a hand forward to shake Rhett’s in confirmation.

“Deal,” he says, flatly, shaking Rhett’s hand twice and then releasing it and returning to the sizzling pan. “He’s available this Friday.”

A heavy sigh leaves Rhett’s lungs. “Of course he is.”

-

“He should be here soon, I’m gonna go out and make sure he finds the house. Play nice, alright? We’re running out of options,” his roommate looks at him with an expectant smile and gets a grimace in response. 

“I’ll try.”

“Well, beggars can’t be choosers, I guess,” Gregg mumbles as he walks through the threshold and out the front door.

Rhett sighs and putters around the back room of their house. When he and Gregg first moved in, they mutually decided that the sunroom would make a perfect practice area. Two of the walls were adorned with giant waist-high windows, which they promptly covered with noise-cancelling curtains. Rhett’s guitars are hung up high on the wall alongside a few framed records, and he hopes to God that the new guy gets the memo and leaves everything alone. Seems like every time they’d allowed an acquaintance into their shared musical space, it had been a mistake. Broken equipment, cables left everywhere, inexperienced musicians. After half a dozen people, he had reached his limit.

Yeah, noodling with two people got stagnant, but he doesn’t have to put up with all the bullshit. Warder is cool, and Gregg had been Rhett’s friend for years. The trio had worked well together thus far.

The sound of the front door quickly reminds Rhett that he’s going to face yet another potential disaster. He may not be the one cleaning up the mess, but he’ll still have to sit through the sesh, even if the new guy brings bad vibes. He can hear John and Gregg speaking as they walk through the house—by now he knows their voices. Rhett also hears someone talking in a hushed tone, followed by a clipped bark of unfamiliar laughter. It pulls a deep sigh from his chest and he tries to make his face as neutral as possible.

Gregg had asked him to behave, so he supposes he _should_ comply. If he goes into this with a bad attitude, it’ll surely influence his playing. And Gregg is right; they’d exhausted nearly all their options at this point. The alternative is inviting novices to play—and while that’s fun _sometimes_ , Rhett wants to spread his wings.

“Link’s here, man.”

Rhett turns, reluctantly, and is met with two familiar faces. John enters the room and raises his eyebrows playfully, followed by Gregg and a timid stranger. Link.

The man is their age, but he has a baby face—visible in spite of the dark stubble adorning his jaw. Link’s black hair is boyish and slicked down, curling at the ends and carefully swept over oceanic blue eyes. He’s got a leather case gripped loosely in his right hand and Rhett hopes that his confidence isn’t indicative of his prowess. He lets out a cough and Rhett realizes too late that he’s been staring.

“Nice to finally meet you, Link. I’m Rhett. Gregg’s told me a lot about you.” Rhett reaches forward to shake Link’s hand, and in response, the man fumbles and passes his instrument over before grabbing Rhett’s hand clumsily.

Link finally speaks once his fingers are wrapped loosely around Rhett’s. “He has?” The nervous smile he’d had when he walked in vanishes. Now that Rhett is up close, he can see just how… _pretty_ Link is. His dark eyebrows are raised self-consciously and it only directs Rhett’s attention to the clear pools below. _Fuck_ , his eyes are really blue.

“Only good stuff. Promise,” Gregg jumps in, and Rhett’s head snaps to look at him. He instinctively drops Link’s hand and turns to face him once again.

“Yeah. Y’all met in college, right?” Rhett wipes a sweaty palm on his jeans.

“Mhm. I did an open mic on campus and Gregg came up to talk to me when I finished my set. We met up and jammed like a week later, and he introduced me to John a few months after that.” Link’s thumb absentmindedly rubs the seam of his case’s plastic handle.

“When we played together the first time, I just let him solo for like... fifteen minutes. He’s good,” John punctuates his sentence by flopping back on the familiar, ratty couch and crossing his legs.

“Okay, well…” Link mutters, cheeks clearly flushing from the attention.

Rhett nods to himself. “Then this’ll be fun. Come on in, make yourself at home.” Where this hospitality had come from, he doesn’t know. Maybe it’s Link’s humility—the other guys had talked him up since they’d met him, yet the praise only seemed to embarrass him.

Link obliges and walks to the couch before sitting down carefully next to John. Once he’s situated, he pulls his saxophone case to rest on his knees. He clears his throat quietly before asking, “So, what are we playin’?” He looks up and his eyes dart between Rhett and Gregg.

“You know Ellington?” Gregg asks with a hand on his hip.

“Yup.” Link uses his thumbs to snap open the buckles of his case and the metal jingles against the plastic. “I might need a fake book, depending on the charts, though. What you thinkin’?” He lifts the lid of the case and reveals a stunning gunmetal tenor sax with gold accents.

“We could do _C Jam Blues_ and nix the piano part. Might sound a little weird, but it’s a good starting point—so’s _Take the A Train_.”

Rhett lets out a low whistle as he admires the saxophone. “Wow.”

Link looks up and catches his eyes, smiling wide and unabashed. “I know, right? Graduation present.” He slides the reed from its case and places it flat on his tongue. His fingers curl around the body of his instrument and he pulls it from the encompassing velvet before resting it gently against the arm of the couch. Link’s voice comes out slurred around the reed held lightly between his teeth. “She’s my baby. And those sound good to me.” His eyes flick to Gregg for a second before returning to his lap.

Rhett thinks he can hear Warder and Gregg catching up, but he can’t be sure. He’s too busy watching Link with a fluttering in his chest. Something about the methodical assembly and care he takes with his instrument strikes a chord with him. Once the body is out, Link removes the mouthpiece and uncaps it, setting it on the couch next to him. He hunches forward, inserting the silver, bent neck of his instrument into the body and then tightening it in place. Next, he slides his mouthpiece onto the cork. Nimble fingers meticulously align cane with plastic, then tighten the ligature and secure the reed in place. When he’s done, he rummages through his case and pulls out a padded neck strap.

“‘Kay, I’m ready,” Link says, putting the strap over his head and clipping it onto his saxophone quickly. “We starting with _C Jam Blues_ or _Take the ‘A’ Train_?” 

It’s only then that Rhett realizes he’d missed out on the conversation between his bandmates. He’s thankful that they decide to start with classics—and that with percussion, he’s able to catch on fast.

 _“_[ _’C Jam’_](https://youtu.be/mSBmMswu17k) first?” John asks before looking at the guys and getting amicable nods in response.

“Sounds good to me,” Rhett murmurs, finally tearing his eyes away from Link and the breathtaking saxophone. As he walks to sit on his drum throne, Rhett makes a note to look at the engravings more closely whenever he gets the chance. From what he could see, the design had been almost paisley and the gold a stark, regal contrast to the grey.

Warder opens his case and connects the mouthpiece to his trumpet with an ease that only comes from years of experience. Once it’s attached, he puts his horn to his lips and runs through a quick warm-up—switching easily between short, staccato notes and higher-pitched, long tones.

As Gregg plucks his upright bass from its resting place, Rhett taps his left foot a few times—familiarizing himself with his hi-hat, making sure the adjustment is where he needs it. It responds in kind, hissing as the cymbals come into contact. Gregg walks his instrument over to Rhett and the men stand in a circular formation.

Rhett reaches into his stick bag and retrieves a pair of wire brushes before looking up at Gregg. “You ready, man?” They’re the ones starting, so they need to be copacetic.

“Yup. Count me in.”

He looks to the others to make sure they’re ready as well, and catches the moment Link’s lips wrap around his mouthpiece. Rhett’s eyes are drawn to the sight and his jaw drops slightly before he composes himself. 

“One, two, three, four,” he says briskly to set the tempo.

And then he and Gregg begin to play together—Rhett starting the song with a flam on the snare, the music noticeably hollow without the piano part. It’ll have to do for now; Rhett isn’t about to invite another stranger to jam, especially before Link proves himself. 

Rhett keeps a quick, steady thumping on his bass and hi-hat while he shakes and taps the wire brushes against the snare. After eight bars of build-up, Link and Warder jump in together.

They sound good together, and Rhett’s face breaks out in a grin. The men continue the melody in unison effortlessly until John transitions into a trumpet solo. 

John is incredible, as Rhett had expected. He knows what he’s doing, littering his performance with technique and still leaving space for the other men to improve the song. At the tail end of his solo, he looks to Link with his eyebrows raised. Link nods once, not faltering for a second—picking up the song when Warder falls back.

Rhett goes on autopilot as he watches the exchange—and then more as the newbie destroys his apprehension. Link plays quickly and calmly, eyes fluttering shut as he flies over the pearls. When he goes to breathe, he parts plush, rosy lips once again and Rhett blinks repeatedly before looking to Gregg.

He had been watching Rhett apparently, because he has a shit-eating grin on his face. Gregg mouths, ‘Good, right?’ and Rhett nods, thankful that his roommate had assumed he’s only entranced by Link’s musical prowess.

As his solo ends, he opens crystalline eyes and motions to Gregg with his chin—signalling for him to take over. He does, seamlessly, and the other guys swiftly decrescendo to accomodate for him.

Despite the low volume of his instrument, Gregg makes it work. He’d always been one for flair rather than speed, so his solo is intricate and stinted. He takes pauses for emphasis and pairs notes that seemingly shouldn’t work together, but manages to string them all together beautifully in the end.

“Jump in, Rhett,” Gregg says plainly, and Rhett obliges immediately.

His tongue pokes out from between his lips as he plays—focusing heavily on the hi-hat for the beginning of his solo. His left foot raises and lowers as the brushes hit, allowing the cymbals to vibrate openly for a second before sibilating together. After a few bars he migrates to the snare, then the ride. The wire brushes slide down the metal, hissing with each pass. Rhett looks up to the other guys while he uses the middle of his sticks to roll on the edge of the ride cymbal.

The transition is unspoken, and they all swing back into the head to finish the song. It goes off without a hitch, and Rhett is pleasantly surprised. When the four fall into silence, he breaks it with a diplomatic, “That was pretty good, y’all.”

Link is the first to respond—giggling high and freely. While John and Gregg murmur in agreement, Rhett watches him. The difference between Link playing and Link stationary is night and day. With his saxophone occupying his attention, he’d been controlled and precise and effortless. Once the music had stopped, however, he’d shifted his weight uncomfortably and secured his instrument with one hand while his other came to adjust his bangs. Rhett notes the change absently.

“[ _‘A-Train’_](https://youtu.be/RhuzhkPpKz0)?” Warder asks after a moment of catching up with Gregg.

“Let’s go,” Gregg replies, making sure the others are on the same page. Rhett looks away from Link and nods, reaching into his bag for wooden sticks.

 

The next piece flies by as easily as the first—the four of them meshing together well for the leisurely swing tune. By this point, they don’t have to signal between themselves to take over. Their understanding of one another’s expressions is indication enough.

 

As the song comes to a close, Gregg talks loudly over the music. “Just jam now?”

Everyone nods and as they hit the final note, Gregg plays a small transitional interlude to change the key. The rest of them follow suit, albeit shakily. 

It only takes a few bars for them to get into a rhythm, and they spend the next 20 or so minutes improvising together in B♭ major. 

Once again—when it’s Link’s turn—Rhett is in awe at the man’s abilities. He tries his hardest to keep it to himself, though—unwilling to give Gregg the satisfaction of being right. Even if Rhett _is_ really, really glad to find a seemingly-perfect addition to their trio.

 

When Link leaves their house that night, he gives Rhett an awkward handshake—their eyes only meeting briefly. With his hesitation, Rhett wonders if his roommate had given Link a warning before they met. He doesn’t know why, but even the prospect of that makes his stomach roil.

The front door closes with Gregg yelling niceties to their guests. As Rhett stands in their kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water, he hears, ‘see you next weekend,’ and it doesn’t irritate him nearly as much as he thought it would.


End file.
